


Perchance

by storiesfortravellers



Category: White Collar
Genre: Comfort, M/M, Making Up, Past Arguing, Shirtless, Watching Someone Sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-15 03:16:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1289074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesfortravellers/pseuds/storiesfortravellers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal likes watching Peter sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perchance

**Author's Note:**

> For kanarek13

A cool wind drifts in through where the window is cracked open.

Neal’s eyes open.

He moves to get up to close the window, slowly, carefully, so he doesn’t wake Peter beside him. He walks over and shuts the window tightly, then turns and stands for a moment, tired, leaning back against the sill, watching Peter.

It’s strange, still, after all these years, to see Peter Burke sleeping in his bed.

Peter’s lying on his stomach, his arm under his pillow. He’s wearing only pajama pants, same as Neal, but Peter didn’t wake from the cold. 

Neal’s not surprised. Peter’s body is always warm. Neal curls up to it sometimes and feels Peter valiantly refuse to shrink away at Neal’s cold hands on his chest, at Neal’s cold feet nuzzling against his legs. 

Peter is snoring lightly now. The old mattress sags where Peter’s weight lies, and Neal stares at him, at his solidity, large planes sprawled across the sheets. He takes a moment to linger here and there – he likes the arms, muscular but not grotesquely large, and the back, wide, smooth. The ass, covered by Peter’s black pajama pants, a strong arc pulling up from his body.

Neal doesn’t consider this ogling. He has an artist’s eye, and he’s trained it to dawdle on beauty.

He didn’t think he’d get the chance again. Not like this. Not in the quiet of the night, the clock ticking its way slowly, high up on the wall, the sounds of the city muffled. 

Two weeks ago, he thought that Peter would never forgive him. Two weeks ago, he thought that he might just be better off living his own life without trying to live up to the standards of Agent Peter Burke. He thought that their endless cycle of Neal messing up and apologizing and Peter going from anger to fearful forgiveness, again and again and again, might be better left behind.

And then Peter came to him. Saying that they should try again. That they should both do the work and make the changes they needed to stay together.

Peter said that _he_ wanted to change for Neal.

It was telling, about their relationship but especially about Neal, that the thought that Peter might need to change had never even occurred to Neal. In that second, Neal suddenly realized some very unflattering things about himself.

And some completely undeniable things about Peter.

Neal made promises then, careful to only make ones he thought he could keep. Peter made some, too.

And then Peter was back. Peter’s lips on his, claiming, hot, pressing into Neal. Peter’s hands, gripping Neal’s hips, tight, clinging. 

It’s strange, the things that remind you to be grateful of what you’ve gotten back. 

The sound of Peter’s snores, the heat of his body warming the bed.

Neal walks back to bed slowly then. He is careful when he climbs in, uses a thief’s silence and stealth, but Peter wakes anyway.

He slides an arm around Neal’s waist and pulls him in close. “Got you,” Peter whispers, still half asleep, closing his eyes right after.

Neal lays a gentle kiss on his shoulder. “Of course you do.”


End file.
